


system upgrade

by bag_of_bones (Thoroughly_Misguided)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, duuuude I found this in my documents, i don't even remember writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 20:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13689552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thoroughly_Misguided/pseuds/bag_of_bones
Summary: Magic. It was so great in its ability to defy the very laws of the universe, to twist the very fabric of reality. All-encompassing, it could move mountains if it's user so wished. And yet those who wielded it crippled themselves with rules and regulations, prejudices and narrow-mindedness. It was frustrating, to say the least. Those who were blinded stumbled along happily, but those who could see their own destruction turned the other cheek. What were they to do?Well, if the house is rotted, tear down the house.And so, Harry, armed with the knowledge and power of the Dark Lord before him, sets forth on a revolution that will rock the Wizarding World to its core. There will be no chivalrous warning; they've had centuries to prepare. A storm's brewing on the horizon, dear witches and wizards.You'd best hide quickly.





	system upgrade

“Slow down, ‘Arr-- er, slow down! You’ll be seein’ everythin’ sooner or later!” Hagrid bellowed through the crowd, looking a little green around the gills.

Harry, or “unmemorable, yet excitable Hogwarts first year” as he was cleverly disguised as for the time being, flitted from place to place like a mad hummingbird, almost crashing into many a witch and wizard several times as he dashed to and fro, just trying to see.

“No time, Hagrid!” He yelled over his shoulder as he skidded past a broomstick and a floating pair of fuzzy slippers of all things, never backtracking as he frantically saw, categorized, and remembered. A moleskin pouch connected to his vault bounced in his pocket with every step he took, jingling merrily with money. The business trip to Gringotts had done absolutely nothing to quell his excitement.

He had money. He had parents. Parents. Parents who weren’t drunks, who didn’t die in car crashes. Parents who didn’t want him staying with Aunt Petunia.

Parents. James and Lily Potter-- people who had loved him. Died for him.

Harry had almost dropped to his knees in the goblin-- Griphook-- Griphook’s office right then and there had he not been sitting down in a chair. Griphook said nothing, thankfully, only waiting for him to finish gathering himself as he read the last of his parents’ wills, shoulders shaking minutely.

“Would you like the heir ring and the portkey to Potter Manor?” Griphook had said once he had placed the precious papers gently back into their box. Harry cleared his throat, sitting up. He seemed to gain a new resolve as he squared his shoulders, hellfire burning in his eyes.

“Yes please, Griphook. Would you mind terribly telling me more about my illustrious magical guardian?” He asked politely. Griphook smiled, teeth gleaming sharply in the artificial office light.

“It would be my pleasure, Heir Potter.”

Harry shook his head to chase away the memory, looking up at the wandmaker’s shop sign with critical eyes. So this was where he would be receiving the tool so many books have claimed as necessary. He glanced down at his right hand, slowly clenching it into a fist. Independent for so long, only to be tied down by a wooden stick…

“There yeh are, yeh slippery eel.”

Harry blinked out of his thoughts, looking up at a panting Hagrid with a beaming smile painted on his face. Like a charm (ha!), the friendly half-giant huffed, re-shouldering the bags, and gave him an exasperated smile in return.

“Sorry Hagrid,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly. “There’s just so much!”

Hagrid chuckled good-naturedly, a giant, meaty hand coming out and ruffling Harry’s hair into a bird’s nest. “‘S all righ’, I suppose. Jus’ be careful, alrigh’? Wouldn’t want yeh to get lost on yer firs’ day.” He reached around Harry to push open the well worn, wooden door, a bell above them tinkling cheerily.

The inside of Ollivander’s reminded Harry eerily of the attic above Aunt Petunia’s house, loathe how she may have been to be compared to one of his kind. Worn and dusty, it was too high up for her to bother cleaning, as she would’ve needed to prop a ladder in the opening in the hallway on the second floor. It was too much work for her to do.

So she sent Harry to do it instead.

Harry had climbed the ladder at the age of seven, with a duster in one hand, and the sleek handle of a torch in the other. When he pushed open the hatch, it was as if he had left the suburbs for another world, one that was much nicer, in his humble opinion.

Boxes were stacked upon boxes, crates upon crates, all in neat little rows, clearly labeled in Aunt Petunia’s neat handwriting. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry thought he saw the outline of a chair, made ghostly by the sheet draped over it.

“Hello?” Harry felt like that first time in the attic now, standing at the door of Ollivander’s, with rows upon rows of narrow boxes before him. A floorboard creaked neath his feet as he took a step, and Harry winced at the painfully intrusive sound, but pressed on nevertheless.

His eyes drew to the bell sitting atop the tall counter, brass, and inviting. If a floorboard made him wince, a bell would probably be worse.

Harry shrugged, and rang the bell.

“I’ve been wondering when I’d be seeing you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry very nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around to place a tense hand between the old wandmaker and himself. Ollivander’s eyebrows steadily rose as he glanced at the offending hand, extended fingers glowing red with a stunner. Harry flushed in embarrassment, murmuring an apology as he allowed his magic to retreat, swiftly tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

“Surely you have better things to do than to think of me, sir,” Harry countered smoothly, following Ollivander to the counter.

“Ah, but I find that you’re all the Wizarding World has been able to talk of as of late, Mr. Potter.” Ollivander’s pale eyes were unnerving as they scrutinized him from head to toe. “The-Boy-Who-Lived is to be making his first appearance in over ten years, after all.”

Harry grimaced lightly at the mention of the uncreative moniker, though refrained from commenting. He’d be hearing a lot more of it from now on, he suspected. Magical folk seemed almost as oddly attached to their hyphenated titles as they were their prejudices.

His attention was drawn back to the old wandmaker as he emerged from the tall shelves, stacks upon stacks of narrow, dusty boxes in hand.

Harry felt a tired sigh escape him as he stared at the mountain of wands. This was going to take a while.

\-----

Approximately forty minutes later, Harry emerged from the dark shop, a wand of holly and phoenix feather twirling smoothly between his fingers. He smiled to himself, ducking his head as he merged into the crowd.

It felt good to be back.

**Author's Note:**

> asdjfkl; do you ever go back to look at your old works and find out you wrote a shit ton of stuff that you don't even recall writing? This is it lmao
> 
> Tell me what you think! I might just leave this as a lone standing chapter considering that it's been a while (two years to be exact) since I last even thought about this work. I can't remember anything that I initially planned hhhhhhh


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